


an old flame

by adventurerofthewrittenworld



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, Cheating, F/M, Feysand angst, angst with happy ending, breakup angst, feysand
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:21:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26535052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adventurerofthewrittenworld/pseuds/adventurerofthewrittenworld
Summary: Feyre and Rhys have a fight, and she does something she regrets, pushing Rhys away from her.
Relationships: Feyre Archeron/Rhysand
Comments: 8
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a role reversal of my other fic “it all came crashing down” in which Rhys cheats. I don’t think either of them would ever cheat on each other, so this is a bit OOC, but I wanted to explore the idea anyway.

Feyre closed her eyes as a sweet, citrus-scented breeze swept over the deck. The scent was so familiar, stirring something intrinsic in her, but her mate was not here. No, he was across the continent, back in Velaris. 

_“Don’t lie to me, Rhys.”_

_“I can’t tell you everything.”_

_“Lately, it seems like you can’t tell me anything. Am I really your High Lady, Rhys?”_

Their last conversation was playing on a loop inside her mind. She couldn’t get it out of her head. She downed her second glass of liquor, the liquid burning her throat. 

_“How can you say that?” His face was stunned, twisted with devastation._

_She merely turned away, unable to even look at him._

_“Feyre.”_

_Silence._

_He tried again. “Feyre, I’m doing the best I can. There is information that is critical, too critical to share even with you.”_

_She whirled on him, furious. “We are a pair, Rhys. If we cannot be united, if we cannot act as one—” she broke off, voice turning bitter. “You’re no better than him.”_

_Shock flashed in his eyes. It quickly morphed into anger, and hurt. “You don’t mean that.”_

_“I do.”_

The boat rocked gently on the waves, the sea and the seagulls the only sounds for miles around. She set the glass of liquor down a little too loudly. The hollow clink sounded on the open deck of the ship, too loud to her ears. She should return home. She should try to resolve things with Rhys. Even if, lately, everything had been hard with him. The politics, the court drama, the lies and deception, and she didn’t know if she could stand it anymore. Feeling so distant from him. 

She should go back. But she remembered his parting words to her. 

_“Get out.” His voice was hard, yet she heard the hurt beneath it. The pain, the despair._

_Still, he was kicking her out of their home. Their city._

_Eyes angry, she met his gaze. “Gladly.”_

_And then she winnowed. Winnowed to here, to the Summer court._

She took a deep breath, shaking her head a little to clear it. Tarquin had been kind in letting her stay here, but she knew she would have to go back soon. Eventually. 

She could feel Rhys’s worry, his panic, down the bond. She felt him pounding on her shields. She didn’t yield her shields, didn’t allow herself to hear him, to feel him. 

She didn’t care. He had kicked her out. He could burn in hell for all she cared. 

The door to the upper deck opened, and Tarquin’s summery scent floated in. 

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked with a warm smile. 

She smiled back despite herself, despite everything that had happened in the past few hours. “The view is lovely. Thank you for letting me stay on such short notice.” Not any notice at all, actually. She’d shown up at the doors of his palace, face still flushed with anger. Still in her casual home clothes. 

He waved a hand in dismissal. “You’re a High Lady. It would be impolite to turn you away.”

“Are you implying you’re burdened by obligation?” she teased. 

“Of course not,” he said, smile widening. “It’s an honor.”

She laughed. Then remembered why she was here, and what she had to go back home to. 

Her smile fell a bit. Tarquin noted it. 

“Only one person can put that look on your face,” he said quietly. 

“I forget how perceptive you are,” she said bitterly. 

“He’s a fool.” The words, soft, yet fierce. Feyre remembered how not so long ago, the High Lord of Summer had told her she would be easy to love. How she had told him the same. 

The pounding on her shields had stopped, but she could still feel Rhys’s distraught panic and concern on the other side of the bond. Panic at not knowing where his mate was, if she was in danger—

Feyre prepared herself to leave. To say goodbye and thank you again. It was time to go home. 

But Tarquin kissed her. 

She stumbled back in shock. It was a barely-there kiss, just a brush of his lips over her own, but it had happened nonetheless. 

“Tarquin—”

“I’m sorry.” His face was flushed. Twisted with sorrow and bitterness. “I shouldn’t have done that. You’re mated.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” she whispered. 

She met his gaze, and before she knew what she was doing, she was leaning in, and her lips were on his, and they were kissing, and something in her chest was fluttering rapidly—

His hands landed on her waist, went higher, skimming her ribs, and she leaned into the touch even as she tried desperately not to. His mouth on hers was sweet like whiskey, hot like fire, and she made a small sound in the back of her throat. 

His hands slipped lower, to the curve of her backside. It was that touch that had her jolting back. 

She stumbled away from him, cupping a hand to her mouth. “What have I done,” she breathed, horror dawning on her. She had—she had—

_No no no_

In her panic, her despair, her shields slipped. Rhys’s voice slipped in immediately. 

_Feyre._ There was such regret and devastation laced in that single word. _Feyre, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I told you to leave. I was being such a bastard. Please come home. Tell me where you are, and I’ll find you._

She couldn’t speak. She stared at Tarquin, who looked just as horrified and remorseful as she did. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathed. 

“Me too,” she said. “I have to go.” Tears slipped free. She winnowed before he could say anything, and arrived in her bedroom. The one she shared with Rhys. 

He was instantly there, scanning her for any signs of injury, and sighing in relief when he saw that she was unhurt. 

“I was so worried when I couldn’t find you,” he breathed.

But then his eyes landed on her face. And he saw her fully. 

“What’s wrong.” He should have scented Tarquin on her, but he probably thought it was just from her being at the Summer Court, at Tarquin’s home. Because Rhys would never expect that she would—

A sob slipped out of her. “I made a mistake.”

When he said nothing, only waited for her to speak, she said without meeting his eyes, “I kissed Tarquin.”

Since she wasn’t looking at his eyes, she didn’t see it. The moment something cracked in them, the moment they became devastated, anguished. 

She dropped to her knees and fell back against the wall, feeling like the ground was slipping out from under her feet. She couldn’t bear to stand, couldn’t bear the see the look on his face, the pain and hurt and sorrow she had put there. 

Rhys was staring through her like she wasn’t there.

_“Why?”_ It was sadness, and pain, in that single word, not anger, and that broke her heart more than anything. 

“I’m so sorry,” she said miserably. “I’m so, so sorry. I was just—I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have even gone there. I was just sad, and hurt, and I never wanted to hurt you, I just wanted to stop feeling sad for a little while. And it was so selfish, and cruel, and I’m sorry.”

Rhys said nothing. He finally fell to his knees as well, leaning heavily against the bed, and dropped his head in his hands. She could scent the salt of his tears, and it fractured something in her. 

“I’m sorry,” she said again, unable to see the pain she was causing him. “Please say something.” Her voice wobbled. “Please yell at me, or tell me to go away.”

He loosed a breath. “I need some space.” 

She raised her eyes to him, and regretted it instantly. They were anguished, and hurt, and something in her cracked wide open at seeing it. 

She opened her mouth to tell him yes, yes he could have all the space he needed, but Rhys had winnowed. As if he couldn’t bear to be near her for a moment longer. 

A sob crawled up her throat, and alone in their bedroom, she let herself cry in earnest.


	2. Chapter 2

There was a great, wide chasm in him, and he was falling into it. There was a roaring in his head, and he couldn’t escape it. He could feel the hum of the mating bond, the anger beneath the surface as it urged him to find Tarquin, to roar at him for taking this from him. The trust he and Feyre had. The way their relationship was like before this, and the way it would never be the same again. 

In the days he stayed alone at the townhouse, he couldn’t help but replay over and over, every touch and smile and glance Feyre and Tarquin had shared. 

_I’m thinking it would be very easy to love you. Easier to be your friend._

If he had thought he was jealous then, it was nothing compared to what he felt now. The pure rage, the pure emotion in his chest. The sharp, blinding pain the thought of Feyre being with another male dredged up. 

He couldn’t get the image of it out of his head. Feyre and Tarquin, kissing, in each other’s arms, where her hands had wandered, where _his_ hands had wandered—

He thought of the fight they’d had before she’d winnowed away to the summer court. He’d made her feel—unwanted. In her own home. Yes, she’d been the one who was unfaithful, but he had driven her away with his lies and distance. He had made her feel like the only way she could find solace, and reprieve, was a thousand miles away in the summer court. Not here, not with him in their home. But with Tarquin. 

He had chased her away. 

It didn’t change what she’d done. Rhys couldn’t ever imagine being unfaithful, yet she had—she had betrayed him. Betrayed their relationship. He didn’t know where that left them. 

Feyre hadn’t left her bedroom. Hadn’t left her place slumped against the wall. The tears had long since run out, but she felt—hollow. 

Tarquin had sent word to her, more apologies and asking if she was alright, but she ignored it. She’d left the letter opened on the nightstand of their bedroom. 

She couldn’t believe the horrifying new reality she had created. How could she ever have betrayed him? 

Around midday, Rhys returned. There was a solemness about him she hadn’t seen in a long time. Rhys was always laughing, teasing, seducing. Yet now, he seemed grim. 

He was quiet as he tucked his wings in and stood in the doorway of the balcony where he’d flown in. 

“We should talk.”

Her stomach sank. She knew where this was going. She only nodded, somehow finding the strength to rise to her feet and meet his gaze. 

It wasn’t angry, or vengeful. It was sorrowful, remorseful. 

Something in her chest tightened. 

“Rhys,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. Please believe that I would never try to hurt you. I didn’t do this because I wanted to hurt you. I just acted without thinking, and I was being selfish and stupid.”

“I know,” he said quietly. 

She didn’t say anything, afraid of pushing him towards a decision she didn’t want. 

“I forgive you,” he said, meeting her gaze. He looked so soft, so vulnerable then. Nothing at all like the fearsome High Lord he sometimes showed to other people. The words rocked through her, stunning her to the spot. Rhys continued, with an effort at casualness, “I just need a little bit of space. I’m going to sleep at the townhouse for now.”

“What?” she breathed, her mind still not past those first three words. 

He looked away, a hand running through his hair. “I think some time would be best for us. We’ll work through this.”

She started crying again. “Why aren’t you mad at me?” 

His face was pained. “I don’t know. I know you left me, and went to someone else. I know you cheated, I know I should blame you and hate you. But I can’t.”

Now Feyre felt worse than ever. She wished Rhys would scream at her, rage at her, say horrible things to her so that this guilt—this clawing, unbearable guilt would shift. 

“Please,” she said miserably. “Please be angry.”

He shook his head, as if clearing away thoughts. Or more likely, memories. Of every time she and Tarquin had touched, shared a shy glance. 

“We’ll get through this,” he said, more to himself than her. 

But Feyre noticed how he didn’t come nearer. How he didn’t touch her like he might have before, how he didn’t hug her or so much as look longer at her than absolutely necessary. She noticed his side of the bond being distant, and far away, and she noticed the way the sight of her seemed to pain him. 

“I love you,” she said, voice teary. 

When he didn’t answer her, she thought something in her chest permanently fractured. Tears slipped free again, and Rhys’s face stirred at the sight of it. 

“Please don’t be upset,” he said. 

He’s comforting me, she thought numbly. She didn’t deserve him. 

“You can’t even look at me,” she said. 

It was true. She saw it on his face. 

“You have to give me time,” he breathed. 

“Okay,” she said. But she hated how small she sounded, how childlike the word came out. 

His face softened. “Goodnight, Feyre.”

Then he winnowed away, leaving her in their bedroom again. 

“Rhys told me what happened,” Mor said with a cringe. 

“I already hate myself enough,” Feyre said before Mor could lay it on her. “Especially since he’s not even angry.”

“I think he’s just processing. You guys will get through this.”

“You don’t hate me?” 

She winced. “ _Hate_ is a strong word. I know you’re both hurting. Just—be there for him.”

“I will,” she said softly. “I will.”

Feyre dreamt of the Attor. She woke up sweating, thrashing, and turned in her bed to find the other side cold. Empty. 

Her stomach sank as she remembered everything. 

Tentatively, she reached out down the bond. It was cool, peaceful on the other side. 

She loosed a heavy breath. He was probably sleeping. 

She shouldn’t wake him. Yet she found herself winnowing to the townhouse, as if her feet had a mind of their own. She padded down the hallway where the door to his room was and knocked once. Twice. 

No answer. 

She cracked the door open, and it took a minute for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. 

Rhys was sitting on the edge of his bed, wings curved around him. He was shirtless, his body covered in shadows and moonlight. She saw the glass of near-empty liquor on the table beside him. 

She knew he heard her come in. 

“Rhys,” she said softly. 

“I felt your nightmare,” was all he said. 

“I’m sorry I woke you.” She shouldn’t have come. He didn’t want to see her. This had been a mistake. 

She turned to leave, but he faced her this time and she saw the tears on his face. “What am I supposed to do, Feyre? What do you want me to do? I can’t leave you, and I can’t be with you. I miss you and yet looking at you...I just see you and him in each other’s arms.”

“I’m sorry,” she breathed, and she had never hated herself more. 

“Don’t be sorry,” he said. “Tell me what to do. Tell me how I’m supposed to move on from this. How do I forget this happened?” 

She felt a sob crawling up her throat. “I don’t know,” she shook her head. 

“Kiss someone else,” she said, voice teary and wretched. “If it’ll make you feel better.” She tried not to cry, but it was too late. Tears were falling hot and fast, and her voice wavered as she said, “I won’t ever bring it up. I won’t hold it against you.”

“Feyre,” he said incredulously. “Don’t you get it? I don’t want to hurt you. After everything, I still love you.”

It was what she’d wanted to hear that first day, but the way he said it now, like he was resentful of his love for her, like he wished he didn’t—it was worse. She wished he hadn’t said anything. 

“Then break up with me.” 

“I can’t.” His voice was wretched, sad. 

“If you want time, you can have as much of it as you need.” She would wait an eternity for him. He’d waited five hundred years for her. She could wait that long too, longer even. For him. 

“I know,” he said quietly. 

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then he asked, “Are you okay? What did you dream of?”

“The usual,” she said. “I’m fine now.” She remembered those nights when he’d held her hair back as she vomited from the nightmares she’d had, when he’d tucked her into bed and held her close until she could open her eyes again, bear to face the world again. Her eyes stung. 

“Why weren’t you sleeping?” she asked. 

He looked at her as if the answer was obvious. “I told you. You were having a nightmare. I felt your fear, your panic—it woke me up. I can’t sleep when you’re—“ he cut himself off, as if he’d said too much. 

She crossed the room and kissed him before she even knew what she was doing.

Rhys was frozen against her. Frozen and stiff. 

He broke away, shaking his head. “I can’t. Feyre, I can’t.”

She stepped back, cheeks flushed from embarrassment. What was she doing? She wasn’t this person. She didn’t throw herself at people who didn’t want her. 

“Sorry,” she said, unable to meet his eyes. 

He sighed, and dragged a hand through his hair. “I don’t want you to be upset. I’m not doing this to hurt you. I just—“

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me. Ever.”

She wondered if he remembered that he’d once told her the same thing before. 

“I should leave.” She was still flush from embarrassment, and wanted to go home and curl up in her bed. 

“Feyre.”

She turned back. 

“We’ll get through this,” he said, and she saw in his eyes that he meant it. Believed it. And for the first time, she felt hopeful. 

“I know.” The words were tight with some emotion she couldn’t place, and she thought she might have seen his face flicker once, but she was gone from the room before she could convince herself to turn back.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’m having way too much fun writing these cheating fics loll

It was a sunny day outside, and they were all lounging in one of the main sitting rooms of the estate. Rhys was working through some letters they’d received from various lords and other courts. Amren was propped up against a cushion on the sofa, closing her eyes as she sunned herself by the window. Azriel was on the couch opposite her, sharpening Truth-Teller. 

And Cassian and Nesta were bickering again, at each other’s throats. 

Cassian had paused, briefly, to glance at Azriel’s blade and complained that it was “creepy” to do that here. Mor had only laughed, the shadowsinger’s eyes flitting to hers briefly before settling back on the dagger in his hands. His shadows covered almost his entire neck, twining up the golden brown skin there as they whispered in his ear. 

Feyre was still laughing a bit as her gaze drifted over to Rhys. She turned away again before he could catch it, and silently chastised herself. 

_This is the first time we’ve all hung out like this since...since everything. Don’t ruin it. Don’t make it weird._

Even though her interactions with Rhys had been noticeably brief. Curt. She hated it, hated this distance between them that she’d created. But she deserved it.

Cassian drawled, low and with a hint of a taunt, “Something the matter, Nes?” 

Her sister gave him a scathing look, but only said, “Just that you’re here.”

She glanced towards Rhys, laughter floating down the bond between them.

_I don’t know about you, but I’m not hanging around to watch this._

_I’m right behind you._

For a moment, with the two of them laughing, everything felt just like before. 

Rhys met her eyes and she was surprised to find his gaze soft. Thoughtful. 

“A thought for a thought?” she asked quietly. 

He swallowed. “I’m thinking that I wish I held onto you that night and didn’t...didn’t tell you to leave. I shouldn’t have said those things to you. I should have trusted you.” 

Her heart broke for him. “Rhys,” she said softly. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for. I made a mistake. It was not your fault. I should have stayed even when you told me to leave. And even if I ...Even if I left, I should have gone somewhere else.” _Not the Summer court, knowing my history with Tarquin._

He nodded, but he didn’t seem convinced. 

“Hey,” she said, cupping his face in her hand. “I love you. That never changed.”

Something burned in his eyes, but he smiled. 

...

That night, Rhys flew into the balcony of their bedroom at the estate. He tucked his wings in smoothly as he landed on the balcony, and Feyre stood as he walked in. 

His hand rubbed at the base of his neck. “I thought I would sleep here tonight. If that’s okay with you.”

Her heart stumbled in her chest. A truce. A peace offering. “Of course.”

“Just sleep,” he clarified after a beat.

She nodded. She knew that now was not the time for _that_. This might be a temporary truce, a step forward for them, but this wound had not healed yet. And maybe it would not heal for a long time. She would wait, however long it took. 

Feyre sent a flicker of darkness to close all the lights in the room. Only a sliver of moonlight coming in from the window lit the room. 

She settled into bed while Rhys stripped himself of his jacket. His warm, heavy weight settled into the mattress a moment later. He’d kept his wings out as this bed was large enough for them to comfortably fit. 

“I love you,” he said into the dark. The words were quiet, tentative. 

She stilled. Then shifted closer to him, and when he didn’t stop her, laid her head on his chest and wrapped her arms around him. 

“I love you, too.”

“I just needed to say it,” he said quietly. 

_Me too, she thought. Me too._


End file.
